


Fate's Design

by Mogatrat



Series: The Warded Witchdom [6]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternative Universe - Dark Fantasy, Based on Volume 1 Trailers, Cameos of Life Is Strange (S1) Characters, Gen, Lethal Fantasy Violence, Minor Body Horror Elements, No Faunus, No Smut, Trans Female Character, Trans Ruby Rose (RWBY)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mogatrat/pseuds/Mogatrat
Summary: When the first gods, the titans of air, water, earth and fire, fought their war among themselves, it destroyed the world. From their bones radiates the force that twists all that is unprotected from their lingering rage into horrors. But the wisps of their wills remain, and grant gifts to some among humanity's number, branding them with their symbols and granting power over the elements. Their immaterial children, the new gods, direct the course of humanity, giving them insight and power in exchange for pieces of their souls.Four girls are due to be blessed by the old gods to become sorcerers. The goddess Fate wants to bring them together.Ruby Rose undergoes a spell to change her body to what she wants it to be.Weiss Schnee seeks out the power of an Oracle to see her future.Blake Belladonna, hidden in the shadows, witnesses the horrors of the corrupted Wilds and flees for her life.Yang Xiao Long searches for her long-lost mother at the edges of the wards.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Adam Taurus, Ilia Amitola/Blake Belladonna
Series: The Warded Witchdom [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670002
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Air

It’s her birthday, today.

Ruby stares down at the gravestone, arms clutched tight around herself. It’s not the only one here — surrounding her on all sides are the graves of other warriors, laid here at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Opaque Sea. Dark forms rise above the water, watching the rare visitors to the Sorcerer’s Rest with glowing red eyes, stopped only by the faintly-visible shimmer of the wards.

“You okay?” Yang asks, stepping up beside her and offering a hand.

“Yeah,” Ruby breathes, looking out over the grave to meet the eyes of the sea monsters. She takes Yang’s hand, and it’s almost hot enough to burn. “Okay enough.”

“Dad says we can take as long as we want. They’ll keep the ritual circle ready to go.” Yang swallows. “He just...can’t. You know how he is.”

“He knew her more than we did,” Ruby mumbles.

“Yeah,” Yang mutters. Ruby can feel Yang starting to heat up even more, looking out at the creatures herself.

“I wish we could just kill the whole Wilds,” Ruby says clenching her fist.

“Well, we’re working on it,” Yang promises. “You know, once I’m old enough to go to the Core, I’ll write you letters. Everything we’re doing to fight back.”

“I know.” Ruby swallows. “I wish I could help.”

“Maybe you will, one day,” Yang says. “You could always go to Citadel Academy. Learn spells and stuff.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, your sign could still show up!” Yang insists. “Some people don’t get them till they’re like, twenty.” She rubs her bare shoulder absently, drawing Ruby’s eyes to the rune burned into her flesh there; the name of the old titan of fire. Dad had been so happy, even though he, like anyone, had been worried when Yang woke up in the middle of the night screaming with her bed on fire. She even got his element. 

Ruby’s eyes go back to her mother’s name, the dedication beneath. There was something so romantic about imagining her flying in with Dad to save the day somewhere, where the wards had broken or new ones were going to be made. She kneels down, touching two fingers to the engraved rose.

“Hey, Mom,” she says softly. “I know I haven’t been back here in a while, and...a lot of things have changed. I’m a girl now, if you can believe it. My name’s Ruby.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I wish you could meet me now. That you could...be here for this. I know you’d be thrilled that I’m undergoing a transition spell. Your old mentor’s in the ritual group, too! She doesn’t usually do spells, she said. I bet you knew that.” 

Ruby pauses for a moment, her chest tightening. “You knew all these important people,” she mumbles. “Everyone remembers you as a hero, even me. But...I barely remember you as a mom. How can I live up to that? The only reason anyone’s helping me is because they miss you, or, or they feel guilty about what happened! Whatever _did_ happen...”

Yang puts a hand on her shoulder. “You know Covenmaster Caulfield would help you anyway,” she says, squeezing. “She’s angling to get made Magister, you know, she’s all about providing public goods right now.”

Ruby laughs quietly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Anyway, Mom, wish me luck, okay? But I guess I don’t need it... Caulfield’s reputation is really solid. I love you.” She kisses her fingers and presses them to the emblem, then stands, taking Yang’s hand again. “All right. Lead the way.”

“Ritual chamber four, she said,” Yang recalls, gripping Ruby’s hand tightly and leading them down the hill towards the great tower that gave the city of Citadel its name. “How are you feeling?”

“I thought I’d be nervous,” Ruby admits. “More nervous than right now. But...I think talking to Mom helped. And I’ve always been sure I wanted this.”

“Yeah... I feel like right after you started talking you were talking about wanting to be a girl,” Yang says with a laugh. “And right after that it was wanting to be a sorcerer!”

“I guess I had a pretty one-track mind,” Ruby says shyly, looking away.

“Hey, no, _I_ wanted to shoot fire from my hands as soon as I could talk! You could ask Mom about that,” Yang says with a laugh. “Don’t feel bad about who you are, Ruby; not any part of it. You’re my awesome sister who’s about to get magicked up the wazoo.”

“Oh gods, _don’t_ say it like that, ever again.”

“Isn’t it accurate, though?”

“Yang!” Ruby considers, for a moment, shoving her sister over, but they _are_ still in the middle of a graveyard and that’d be disrespectful, probably. She has to let her sister have the win this time.

They enter through the double doors of the white marble tower and follow signs that direct them to the second floor, then to one of the many ritual chambers that line the outer circle. Yang knocks on the door, and a tall, muscular woman with blue hair, cropped short, opens it up.

“Hey, guys,” she says with a grin. “Wow, can’t believe it’s my first time meeting Tai’s kids. Wild.”

Ruby, despite herself, despite _knowing_ she was going to be here, takes a step back and gasps aloud. Yang elbows her.

“I can guess who you are, if you can’t get it outta your mouths,” she notes, laughing. “You look like a blonde Raven, Yang,” she says, flicking Yang’s nose, “And you’re just Summer but somehow even shorter, Ruby.” She musses Ruby’s hair. “You’re gonna look even more like her after this, kiddo.”

“It’s — it’s an honor to meet you, Primal Guardian,” Ruby squeaks. “I, um, wow—”

“Don’t gimme that crap,” the Guardian says, waving her off. “Just call me Chloe. Your moms did, cuz I threatened to throw ‘em off Citadel if they ever called me Commander Price-Marsh ever again once they weren’t cadets. That’s my _daughter,_ thank you very much.”

“My sister’s obsessed,” Yang says, nudging her sister. “She’s got a poster of you in her room.”

“Ugh, the one that Kate drew, right? I _hated_ that, but we had to get new recruits,” Chloe says with a sigh. “Look, I knew your parents when they were just comin’ up in the Core. Once I wasn’t their commander, I turned into their friend, and they were all good to me before they left, for all their reasons. ‘Cept Summer, but, you know how that went.” Chloe looks away. “I’m not the Primal Guardian, okay? I’m your weird aunt. That’s all I wanna be.”

“We already have a weird uncle,” Yang points out.

“Oh, I could tell _stories_ about Qrow. Catch me after work sometime…when you’re older.” Chloe winks at them. She looks over her shoulder at the chamber. “Hey, Vic, we ready?”

“Is that Ruby?” another woman calls from within.

“And Yang, yeah.”

“Tell Yang to wait outside. I need to talk to Ruby.”

“See you soon, sis,” Yang promises, exchanging a quick hug with Ruby. Chloe takes Ruby’s hand and leads her into the circular chamber. Ruby can see her father at one end of a circle of chalk marking the floor, studded with runes and symbols, standing within a space marked for him with his hands held together in prayer. He looks up when he hears them come in, and Ruby offers him a smile and a wave, which he mirrors in return. She can see his eyes shining from here.

“Chloe, take your place,” Covenmaster Caulfield calls, drawing Ruby’s eyes to her. She’s almost as tall as the Guardian, with a swoop of short blonde hair covering a sharp face, her robes marked with runes as intricate as those in the circle she’s drawn, spellbook hanging at her belt. “This’ll just be a moment.”

“Got it, Vic.” 

The Covenmaster puts her hands on Ruby’s shoulders as she approaches, looking down at her with intense, glowing, glamour-green eyes. Ruby’s distracted, for a moment, by the obvious burn scar on her cheek — if she’s using a glamour, why not cover that up? — but the Covenmaster’s voice brings her back.

“Ruby Rose,” she says in a low tone. “This is the speech I give everyone who comes to us for this spell, and most of you already know everything I’m going to say in it, but I feel like it’s my responsibility as ritual leader. You understand?”

“Of course,” Ruby says with a nod. “I studied and rehearsed with Dad, but...I’d like to hear a real witch talk about it, anyway.”

“That’s a good instinct,” the Covenmaster says with a soft smile. “Your father never much took to formal magic. Most sorcerers don’t.” She clears her throat. “Ruby... what you’re about to go through today is huge, but it does not define who you are, nor is it irreversible. It will not erase your life up to this point, and you will still be you, and that’s _wonderful_. And if you aren’t ready for this, or change your mind before the ritual is complete, no one will judge you. Althai is the god of the family, and unlike many gods, he is lenient, merciful, and compassionate. This ritual was first designed for a traditional family, the mother and father who gave birth to you, but Althai accepts all sorts of families. Chloe has chosen to take the place of your mother, but your sister, or anyone else who considers themself family to you could be there. So don’t worry about your own performance being perfect, here, all right?” She squeezes Ruby’s shoulders. 

Ruby breathes out, closing her eyes for a moment and swallows. “All right,” she says, feeling some of the nerves drain out of her. “You’re good at this.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. I’m actually one of the foremost practitioners of the spell, and I’ve been doing it long enough that the ritual and offerings are much simpler now than when I first began, as we have woven the incantations further and further into the fabric of the world. You need only take this into your body, curl into the fetal position in the center of the circle, close your eyes, and wait for your rebirth.” The Covenmaster reaches into her robes and pulls out a large, bright red mushroom, its cap in the shape of a heart.

“This is croicap, as I’m sure you’re aware. It has a sweet, earthy taste, but it might be a bit hard to get down if you have trouble committing,” the Covenmaster warns, pressing the mushroom into Ruby’s hands. “Don’t break it apart with your hands or any tools before putting it in your mouth — you must accept all of it in order to be blessed by the spirit of family. You can still chew, of course.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ruby turns the croicap over in her hands, marveling at the size and purity of color it has. Every god has their mark on the Wilds, she knows, but she’s never actually gotten to see one of them in person. Dad had given up on venturing into the Wilds himself years ago, and the harvesters of such things funnel them directly to high-end magic shops and covens.

“Are you ready?” Caulfield asks. 

“I am.”

“Then take your place in the center circle. When I say the first word, start eating. By the end of the first stanza, you have to finish it.”

Ruby nods, and carefully crosses the ritual lines, watching her feet. She pulls up her hood, a bit nervous to be the center of attention in such a way, and focuses on the mushroom in her hands. It pulses with warmth, and in the dead silence before the ritual starts, she can hear it letting out a steady heartbeat, as though she were laying on her father’s chest while he tells a story.

Caulfield begins with one deep, incomprehensible word of the divine tongue, and Ruby stuffs the whole thing into her mouth, as instructed. As soon as her teeth break the surface, her mouth floods with warm, sticky liquid, sweet and thick, hard to swallow. But she chews, dutifully, catching the matched movements of her father and Chloe as they draw circles and runes in the air with hands coated in the same juices that she’s trying to swallow now, faint red particles streaming into the air and hanging in place.

She just barely manages to force the last of it down as Caulfield takes a pause, and she lays down in the center circle, curling her legs up to her chest, hands around her knees. Her stomach pulses in time with the rhythm of Victoria’s recitation. She closes her eyes and clenches her teeth as her stomach threatens to reject the gift of Althai. The sensation spreads through her veins, across her whole body, and she holds herself tightly together; then with a gasp she feels her body shifting and changing beneath her clothes, her muscles spasming and shifting as bones realign, new shapes forming within her core, her flesh reshaping itself to match what she’s always wanted to be. All she can do, even as she feels like she’s about to break apart, is thank Althai, thank him for everything he’s done for everyone like her who’s ever lived.

Her body settles as the ritual comes to an end, the sensation ebbing out of her limbs. When she tries to breathe out, red pours out of her mouth, and she coughs.

When she opens her eyes, her shoulder starts to burn.

She screams, clutching at her shoulder desperately, rocking back and forth on the floor as Caulfield, her father, and Chloe rush to her — and then the wind starts to rise all around them, and Ruby is borne up by the current into the air, and when she’s able to open her eyes as the pain subsides...she's _flying_.

“By the gods,” her father whispers as Ruby’s mind races.

“By the _one_ god,” Chloe corrects. “The Progenitor. They’ve given you a gift.” She’s smiling so widely. 

Ruby can feel it, all around her, the air _teeming_ with life and power, the ability to control it at her fingertips. With a thought, she gently lowers herself to the ground. Chloe quickly runs up to her and yanks her sleeve all the way up her arm, grinning. Right there, where it belongs, is Ruby’s new sorcerer-sign; the rune representing Aeon, dead titan of air.

“Oh, thank all the gods available,” Caulfield sighs, wiping her forehead. “I thought I’d done something wrong.”

“Welcome to the ranks of the sorcerers, kid!” Chloe says, giving Ruby a giant hug. “You’re dangerous now!” As soon as Ruby’s set down, her father grabs her next.

“Congratulations, Ruby,” he says, nuzzling his head into her neck. “She’d be so happy.”

Ruby feels dizzy as she’s set down again, staring at her new sign. 

Air. Just like Mom.

She feels tears prick at her eyes, and Yang busts through the door.

“Okay, what in the Wilds—” she begins, hair smouldering, but she drops her anger the moment she sees what everyone else has gathered around to see. She rushes in and hugs Ruby too, and this time Ruby just sobs into her shoulder, it’s all so much, it’s who she’s supposed to be, every single part of it.

A hush falls over the family and friends surrounding her, and Chloe and Caulfield take a step back, letting Ruby’s family embrace her. 

“Guess you’re coming to the Core with me after all, sis,” Yang murmurs softly into her hair, and Ruby’s never heard or felt anything so wonderful in her whole life.


	2. Water

Weiss closes her eyes and takes a bow, her throat scratched and raw. The stage lights go out, and all around the auditorium, torches spring to life on the walls and illuminate her audience. Just before the curtain falls, she opens her eyes once more, to see who’d been watching her.

Above the crowd of well-dressed witches and uniformed sorcerers, sitting within a box all by herself, is a woman with long brown hair, her robes black, the golden eye of Fate on a chain around her neck.

 _Oracle_.

As soon as the curtain touches the stage, Weiss rushes back, blowing by whatever comment her brother makes without hearing it as she bursts into the halls. She takes the steps up two at a time, shoving her way past the crowds making their way down, trying to scan for the Oracle but not seeing her among them. As she gets up to the second floor, she sees a door open. When she finally manages to see through the throng, she spots the Oracle, sitting patiently with her hands folded in her lap, still staring out at the stage.

Weiss cuts across the line, and as soon as she steps into the box, the Oracle says, “Please close the door behind you.”

“I — uh — yes, ma’am,” Weiss stammers, doing as instructed. 

“Have a seat, Weiss,” the Oracle offers, looking over her shoulder with a gentle smile. There’s a smattering of freckles across her face, her deep blue eyes cutting right through Weiss. Weiss nods and does so, her knees knocking together. 

“She told you I was coming, didn’t she?” Weiss asks.

“She did,” the Oracle confirms with a chuckle. “It’s rare she’s so straightforward with me. I think Fate has plans for you.” She looks over at Weiss and offers a hand. “It’s good to meet you, Weiss. My name is Max, but if you need to tell your father where you’ve been later, call me Oracle Caulfield.”

Weiss takes her hand and shakes. “I’m honored, Oracle—”

“Just call me Max, please. I get enough of the titles from everyone who’s trying to earn my favor,” Max interrupts, waving her off. “I make a habit of defying Fate, but I went along this time because the alternative is being cornered by your father — again. My wife’s much better at handling that kind of thing, but she couldn’t be here today. She and the Guardian had another appointment.”

Weiss laughs despite herself. “You’re not...exactly what I expected.”

“One thing about being an Oracle no one tells you is that when you have a truth-sense, you get _very_ tired of hearing people fake nice,” Max says, smiling. “And you don’t like doing it much yourself, either.”

“You don’t need a truth-sense for that,” Weiss mutters.

“Oh, so you haven’t enjoyed your time as presumed heiress to the Gem Consortium fortune and leadership?” Max asks, raising her eyebrows. “Growing up in high society not doing it for you?”

“That’s... actually what I came to ask you about,” Weiss admits. 

“I should really introduce you to my wife,” Max notes. “I suspect you and her could commiserate.”

“But I want to know—”

“Your future?” 

“...yes.”

“You want to know if you’ll be stuck in this life forever. If you’ll be your father’s pet witch until the day you die, and if there might be a way out for you, instead. If there’s some way to justify breaking off from a life of convenience and wealth in order to become your own woman.”

“...is Fate telling you all of that?” Weiss asks, squinting.

Max laughs. “No, I just met your sister a few years ago and she had the same questions.”

Weiss smiles. “I haven’t heard from her in...a long time. How is she doing?”

“Busy,” Max replies. “I could only do so much for her, as I can for you. But she is, I think, happy. She and her coven are part of the project to reclaim the Marshlands, and their work is invaluable to the expansion project.”

“That’s good,” Weiss mumbles. “But what about me? What...what can you do?”

“I think you already know,” Max replies. “Did you write that song just for this event? _Mirror, tell me something,_ indeed. You’ve already studied up on what a diviner can do to show an individual’s future to them, though that’s usually left to fortunetellers.” Max smiles wickedly. “But a Schnee doesn’t accept any less than the best, does she?”

“Well, it’s not like I can get out on the streets of Citadel and go find one, can I?” Weiss retorts.

“Fair enough. But, please, don’t take it as an insult! Fortunetellers might’ve had the right idea of how to use their gifts, to be honest,” Max says, getting to her feet. “State Oracle is a lot harder of a job, and probably less rewarding.”

“So are we going to—”

“Mhm. Follow me to my room and I’ll cast you a spell. No charge,” Max says, taking Weiss’ hand and lifting her to her feet. “Like I said — Fate’s usually not this open with me. I’m interested to see where this goes. I will warn you, though.” Max raises a finger in the air. “I’m not a fortuneteller. That means I’m not interested in telling you what’s _going_ to happen in a way that makes you feel good about your future. I’m going to present precisely the possibilities that Fate gives me, unedited. Are you ready for that?”

Weiss swallows a lump in her throat. “Yes, ma’ — Max. I’m not a child.”

The Oracle gives her a look, then, that shakes Weiss. In her eyes, something flashes, something golden and sad. “Oh, but you are,” Max sighs. “I know what it’s like to think you’re so ready and strong and mature at your age. You’ll need that now. But someday... you’ll look back at yourself and think you really didn’t know anything.” 

Weiss wants to object, but Max is already leading her out of the box, and she can’t think of anything to say. There was something in her voice that spoke to real experience, and she wracks her brain, trying to remember anything about Oracle Caulfield, if her father had ever mentioned her—

“You survived the Fall of Arcadia, didn’t you?” Weiss asks quietly as they head down the stairs.

“Not quite,” Max says. “But I was supposed to go there, that year. I ended up training under the Oracle Chase before the estate was returned to the druids. My wife’s a survivor; I met her there. And the Guardian was my best friend when we were just children, and when _she_ arrived at the estate...”

“Wow,” Weiss breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t...make the connection.”

“I try not to be too recognizable.” Max gives her a smile as they leave the theatre and find themselves on the streets of Citadel. In the distance, Weiss spots her father talking with a coven, his fake smile well in place. She ducks her head down, and Max follows her gaze and laughs. “My house is just a few blocks down,” she says. “Let’s take this alley.”

Weiss follows Max’s lead, and once they’re safely a few streets away, she asks, “How do you know my father, exactly?”

“He doesn’t much like that my wife’s making a play for the Magister’s office,” Max answers. “He makes a lot of money under Ironwood’s leadership, and he’s obviously angling for the post himself. He tries to grill me to see which one of them will make it in.”

“Ugh.”

“Exactly. I’ve known his type before. Trust me, he’ll only get better once he loses _all_ his children, if then.” Max points out her house, and Weiss is surprised at how modest it seems. Sure, it’s still a mansion befitting an Oracle, but there’s very little in the way of ornamentation aside from the wrought-iron gate, and its colors are dark and subdued, blending easily into the neighborhood. Max places her palm on the center pad of the gate and it swings open for her. She holds the door to let Weiss into the parlor, then leads her up a staircase and into a small, circular ritual chamber, the floor dusted with fine white chalk, remnants of a hundred spells cast in this room.

In the center of the circle is a full-length silver mirror, reflecting Weiss’ image back at her as Max steps around it to open a basket hanging at the back of the room. She comes back to Weiss with a handful of deep red nuts, pressing them into Weiss’ grasp.

“Chew. Thoroughly,” Max instructs. Weiss starts eating them as Max flits about the room, lighting censers on either side of the mirror. They taste bitter, but strangely compelling, like coffee with notes of grass, and they leave a thick paste on her teeth that she tries to scrape with her tongue. Her vision starts to blur as Max comes up behind her, placing her hands on Weiss’ shoulders.

The image in the mirror ripples and suddenly Max is gone, and Weiss stands in a black void, staring at herself in the silver. “Don’t move,” Max instructs, though it’s not just Max’s voice anymore — there’s another, harsher and colder, speaking with her in harmony. “Don’t flee from my grasp, child.”

Weiss can feel it. _Her_. The divine presence of Fate. Her bones chill inside of her, her heart pounding. 

“Look into the mirror. Do not look away.”

Weiss stares. The image of herself in the mirror ages, rapidly, clothes shifting to dark blue and purple robes, a spellbook on her belt, and a glass of wine in her hand. 

“This is what will be,” Max intones. “You are the daughter of both your parents, with all their strengths and weaknesses. Your skill in witchcraft becomes famous. You take over leadership of the Gem Consortium, and lead it into an age of wealth and influence not known since the days before the Fall.” 

A short man enters the image in the mirror, his eyes ice-blue and his hair white, standing behind Weiss with his hands clasped behind his back. “Your brother marries first, and clearly intends to produce an heir in an attempt to undermine you. In retaliation, you marry Henry Marigold.” Another man enters the frame on Weiss’ other side, blue-haired and looking downcast at his exquisitely tailored suit. 

“You hate each other. He wants more control in Consortium affairs, and you tighten your grasp. He becomes a shadow of himself, the only joy he has found in his many affairs. You turn a blind eye. In your misery, you turn to drink. A child is never produced; you cannot bring yourself to conceive with him.”

Weiss feels a horrid sickness in her stomach. She wants to wrench herself out of the Oracle’s grasp, is about to do so to ask why she would show her such a terrible thing, when the image in the mirror changes again.

Weiss stands alone, now. Her hair’s been cut short, her clothes tight and practical. The spellbook still sits at her waist, thicker than before, and slung over her shoulder is a witch’s bag, full of magical components. 

“This is what will be,” Max says again. “You rebel against the life of your father, and join your sister’s coven. When James Ironwood steps down as Magister, you are left in charge, as your sister goes to his side to join his own coven. You are effective, ruthlessly practical, and abandon your family name when your father comes to power. Despite your skills, the government never employs your coven, and you work in druidic compounds and new colonies, helping wherever you can for little money. You separate yourself from the affairs of your members and live a life of solitude, too busy for friendship or love, too scarred by your sister’s second abandonment. Your name does not go down in history, but you are remembered fondly by those you served and led, and missed dearly by those you helped.”

 _It could be worse,_ Weiss thinks, her shoulders shaking. But these futures, both of them, sound as lonely as could be. She doesn’t want this, either, and the voice of Fate makes her feel small and helpless. 

There’s a long pause, and Weiss asks, “Is that...is that all you see for me, Fate?”

“No.”

“This is what may be,” Max says, and Weiss’ image in the mirror changes once again. She’s clad in a smart, military uniform, her hair bound up in a long side-ponytail, and beside her, just faintly visible, are three other silhouettes. The image wavers and shifts before her eyes.

“Wait,” Weiss gasps. “That’s a Primal Core uniform. I’m — I’m not a sorcerer!”

“This is what may be,” Max repeats, the second voice fading, echoing out, _may be, may be, may be._

The room materializes around her once again, and she takes in a gasp of air, falling out of Max’s grasp and kneeling on the floor, head spinning. Max crouches down beside her, rubbing her back.

“It can be pretty exhausting, I know,” she says softly. “What did you see, Weiss? Fate speaks through me, but I’m not there during that sort of trance.”  
Weiss shakes her head. “I...things I already thought I could be, and then...something else.” She gulps and tries to stand, finding herself still dizzy, letting Max’s hands on her shoulders steady her. “She showed me myself, as...a sorcerer?”  
Max hums. “And that’s what interests you the most, is it?”

“I mean...when I was young, I hoped I’d get a sign,” Weiss admits. “But it’s not possible, not this late.” She sighs. “I...I shouldn’t have done this.”

“Wait,” Max says, turning Weiss around to face her. “Who was it that told you it was impossible to follow your dreams?”

Weiss blinked. “Huh? But— the signs are random, everyone knows they are, and you only get them when you’re young —”

“Things have changed in the heavens, Weiss, since that knowledge was written,” Max warns. “Who told you that your life had to go in one direction or the other?”

Weiss looks down at her feet. “My father.”

“And what other paths have you seen?”

“My sister’s.”

“So what’s _your_ dream, Weiss Schnee?” Max challenges. “Why did you want to be a sorcerer as a child?”

Weiss takes a step back. “It...it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t.”

“...I wanted to be a hero. Like the Guardian, or Rose Squad,” Weiss says, blushing. “I wanted to be on the front lines, fighting monsters and making the world safe again. I wanted to be _big,_ and I ended up feeling...so small.” Weiss shrinks into herself. “If anyone was going to be a sorcerer, it should’ve been Winter.”

“What, because she’s tall?” Max asks with a laugh.

“Because she’s brave.”

“And you’re not?” Max asks, raising her eyebrows. “Do you believe that?”

“I think... I could be.”

And then, quite suddenly, Weiss’ shoulder ignites. She tries to gasp, covering the spot with her hand, but then water fills her throat and she coughs, splattering the stone floors and the mirror with it. She kneels down, trying to control the flood, and Max goes down with her.

“Weiss! Weiss!” she shouts, shaking her by the shoulders. “Don’t panic. Hold your breath, feel the water within you.” 

Weiss looks up and into Max’s eyes, full of worry, and her vision blurs from tears. Is she going to die? She feels like she’s going to die, this doesn’t make sense, everything’s out of control —

But then she does hold her breath, on purpose, and feels something. The water within her blood, running slow and cold through her system. She closes her eyes. It needs to stop that. With that thought, she warms up again, and the flood in her throat recedes, and she takes in a sharp, desperate breath, falling back into a sitting position on the floor. She coughs once or twice more, and tries to keep her breath steady, the fear in her heart receding.

“Weiss?” Max asks.

Weiss opens her eyes. She can feel it all around her, hanging in the humid air of Citadel. Her element. Her _power_.

She tugs up the sleeve of her robe, just to make sure. The sight of Naut's rune there feels like a half-remembered dream. Max smiles.

“This happened to my friend’s daughter when we were all at a party, once,” she says with a nervous laugh. “It was just as terrifying then. Are you all right?”

Weiss can’t find the words. “How…?” she manages, looking up at Max.

“I told you. The world has changed. The wisps of the old gods left their bodies and joined into a single consciousness in the heavens. The Progenitor is...unpredictable, which is why Fate can’t tell anyone for sure if they’ll become a sorcerer, but when they gaze upon people, they either like them or they don’t.” Max holds out a hand and brings Weiss to her feet. “Congratulations, Weiss. You’ve earned the favor of a god.”

“I can go to the Core,” Weiss mumbles. “And no one can stop me.”

Max hugs her. “You’re damned right.” Weiss stiffens in her arms, but it still feels nice, despite her instinctive reaction. She steps back from the Oracle, rubbing her new sign. The Oracle looks off to the side, somewhere.

“She says your father’s looking for you,” Max says with a wicked grin. “Why don’t you go and show him your fate? My wife’s due back home any minute, and I’ve got dinner to be making.”

“Thank you for everything, Madam Oracle,” Weiss says, remembering her manners and giving a proper curtsy. 

Max waves her off. “Are you kidding? The honor’s mine, and you get to annoy someone I hate! Go stick this in Jacques' face.”

Weiss giggles, feeling giddy and childish and _powerful._

As she leaves the Oracle’s mansion, she knows she’s finally ready to look her father in the eye.


	3. Earth

It starts with a growl in the night.

Blake awakens with a start, heart pounding for no reason she can identify. “Adam,” she whispers, tugging at her bedmate’s shoulder. “Did you hear that?”

“Probably some dumb wolf,” Adam grunts, “Wandering outside the wall. Go back to sleep.”

“It wasn’t from the wall,” Blake insists, shaking him again. There’s a cold fear gripping her chest. Something’s _missing._

Adam sits up and rolls his eyes. “Blake, nothing got inside. Nothing _wants_ to get inside. That’s the whole point of your parents, right?”

Blake swallows. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“What are you _talking_ about,” Adam sighs. “Speak plainly.”

“I think something’s happened. I feel...colder. I haven’t felt this cold since—”

Someone screams.

Adam’s out of bed in a flash, grabbing his long, bronze blade from the wall. Blake’s behind him just as quickly, reaching into her pack on the floor and drawing out her short sword, wrapping its long ribbon around her wrist. She doesn’t want to think about what this means. What she’s truly arming herself for.

Someone pounds at the door to their hut. “Adam!” Sienna shouts. “Get out here, _now!_ We’re evacuating!”

“Gods,” Blake whispers, shivering. “No.”

“Can’t we just kill them?” Adam shouts back.

“No!” Blake repeats, grabbing Adam’s shoulders and turning him to face her. “We can — we can save them! Find another warlock, find—”

The door to the hut opens and Sienna steps inside, her whip curled at her waist. “They’re full blank already,” she says, her whole body tense. “I...saw them.”

“That can’t be right!” Blake says, even as the sounds of battle start to fill the air outside, something scratching loudly at the outside walls.

“There’s no time to argue!” Adam shouts, slamming his fist into the wall. “In a few minutes the Wilds will be swarming all over us!”

“We can’t face them down without a warlock,” Sienna says. “Let’s grab who we can and get out of here.”

Blake shakes her head, her throat tight, and she pushes past both of them into the village. The warlock’s palace in the center of the circular compound blazes with green flames. An enormous figure stands on its roof, cat’s ears and six-inch claws silhouetted against the fire, and when it roars the whole world shakes.

Blake knows who it is.

Who it _was_.

She can’t stop staring. She’s rooted to the spot. All around the village there are figures scrambling, gathering up everything they can as wolves howl outside the walls. 

Something leaps in front of Blake’s vision and grabs her by the shoulders, pinning her against the ground. She screams, primal terror freezing her limbs as she looks into its face. Another werecat, smaller, its features just slightly familiar, stares at her with blank, glowing yellow eyes.

“Mom?” Blake whispers.

The creature lets out a screech and rolls off of Blake with a spear jammed in its side, shuffling sideways on all fours and staring up at its attacker. “Blake!” Ilia shouts, holding out a hand and pulling her up as the werecat starts to grab at the spear stuck in it. “That won’t stop her for long, come on!”

“Mom!” Blake cries, trying to run for her, but Ilia pulls her back and slaps her across the face.

“That’s not her anymore!” Ilia screams, shaking her by the shoulders. “ _Run!”_

Adam and Sienna run out of the hut with packs on their backs, weapons drawn and at the ready as they face down what was once Kali Belladonna. She hisses at them and backs away, still digging the spear out of her flesh.

“Let’s kill her now,” Adam growls. “At least it’ll be one less—”

“ _No,_ Adam!” Sienna says. “She’ll kill us all. Watch our backs, we’re heading for the gate.”

“Blake,” Ilia urges, reaching down to grab her hands. “Are you there? Please. Please, we have to go.”

Blake looks up into her eyes, and she can’t feel anything. She just nods. Ilia guides her by the hand across the village, and all Blake can do is look down at her hand and try to ignore the screams, the bodies they’re stepping over, the sounds of monsters all around her, Sienna’s whip cracking, Adam’s blade finding flesh. It’s not until they exit the gates that she looks up again, and realizes her sword is dangling from her free hand, forgotten in the chaos. She lets go of Ilia’s hand and grips it tight, blinking and looking around at the endless dark expanse of the Sunless Forest. Behind her, the flames have spread, and the village she’s spent the last year building and keeping safe from disobedient denizens of the Wilds is nothing more than a green inferno.

There’s still screaming. In the dark beyond the walls, she can see no other survivors. Kali must have backed off during the fight to the gates. At least, that’s what Blake hopes, though there’s blood on Adam’s sword.

“We need to keep moving,” Sienna says, breathing hard.

“Where?” Blake asks softly. “Where are we supposed to go?”

“Away from the village,” Sienna says. “That’ll be their territory for now. It should draw in most of the more dangerous corruptions. Lots of...of food. Once there’s light, we can see if we can find our way to another clan.”

Blake nods, shivering in the cold. “I — I’m sorry, I didn’t grab more—”

“It’s all right,” Ilia begins, but Adam whirls on her.

“You should be,” he hisses. “You know the Wilds won’t accept that kind of weakness! That’s why this happened, I told everyone a _year_ ago that we should have stayed and fought —”

“Enough!” Sienna barks. “Follow me. Everyone stay close. We’ll find somewhere to shelter for the night. I’ll stand watch.”

Blake nods, strengthening her grip on her sword. Adam comes up beside her and grabs her other hand, squeezing it painfully, and leads her into the darkness.

* * *

Blake wakes to the dim dawn of the Sunless Forest, the only sign that it’s day a diffuse, gray light filtering through the incredibly thick canopy far above them. The grass she slept on is damp and slimy. She looks over at Adam, sleeping like the dead. He hadn’t offered to share his bedroll. Blake hadn’t felt worthy of asking.

She rises, wiping the thick dew from her arms as she looks around their makeshift camp. Ilia sits on a branch a few feet off the ground, Blake’s sword in her hand, using it to carve a large branch into a spear. There’s a small patch of greenish scales on one of her arms, and as Blake checks Adam over, she notices that his ears have gained small points. Blake quickly pats herself down, and feels two tiny nubs forming on the top of her head. Without the protection of her parents, the corruption’s already taking hold in each of them.

The scraping of the wood is the only sound in the Wilds, and somehow that’s more frightening than anything else. Always in the Wilds, there are sounds; the buzzing of fairy wings, the howling of werewolves, the screeching of rocs overhead. Now it’s...nothing.

“Have you seen anything?” Blake asks softly, walking up under Ilia’s branch. Ilia shakes her head.

“Nothing all night.” _Scrape._ “You... doing okay?”

Blake swallows. “I just...I can’t believe this. How could this— how could they…”

Ilia scrapes off another line of wood. “I...don’t know. The last time this happened, we were expecting it. Your grandfather made your parents warlocks years before that. Everyone knows it’s what happens to warlocks eventually, just...not like _that_.” She looks over her spear, then silently hands Blake’s sword down to her. As Blake takes it, their fingertips touch, and she almost wants to reach up further and just take Ilia’s hand, just to feel grounded. 

But Adam wouldn’t like that.

“Sienna will lead us,” Ilia says. “You...you know she will. She was supposed to be the next one.”

Blake nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m...I’m glad we’re with her.” She looks around, realizing that Sienna’s bedroll is empty. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Looking for clan markers on the trees ahead.” Ilia hops down. “She went when she put me on watch. Said she couldn’t sleep. Without a warlock’s protection...well. I’m sure you had the same messed up dreams I did.”

Blake nods, and Ilia’s so _close_ now, her spear propped up against the tree, and as their eyes meet, Blake’s fill with tears. Ilia rushes up and embraces her, and Blake just tries to cry quietly, so Adam won’t wake and see. He wouldn’t want her to be weak like this. Wildlings know what it means to live here. No one should fall apart like this.

“I’m so sorry,” Ilia whispers, Blake’s tears marking her tunic. “Blake, I...I’ll be here for you, okay? I will.”

“Thank you,” Blake breathes out, burying her head in Ilia’s neck. “Thank you.”

Adam stirs behind them and the two of them jump apart, Blake wiping her eyes quickly. He reaches for his sword first, using it to brace himself as he stands. He looks over at the two women and cracks his neck.

“Where’s Sienna?” he asks.

“Looking for a path,” Blake manages, hoping she doesn’t sound too hoarse. Too weak.

Adam nods. “We need to find food. Ilia, watch the camp. Blake, with me. Let’s hunt.”

* * *

Two days.

It’s been two days that they’ve been following the brands burned into the trees. Sienna doesn’t know the symbol, but it’s obviously warlock’s work. How a clan’s territory could be so big, they have no idea. They still haven’t even spotted a fire burning anywhere.

But as they top a hill, Blake spies something in the distance — not a fire, but a _clearing._ The canopy in the Sunless Forest never breaks; that’s how it gets its name.

“Look at that,” Blake says, pointing, the tiny ears on top of her head twitching. She’s still surprised at how much they seem to move on their own. “Do you think that could be them?”

Sienna purses her lips. “I can’t see any walls from here. No buildings tall enough to see.” The fur growing across her bare arms rises. “I don’t know _what_ that is.”

“Whatever it is, there’s a human there,” Ilia points out. “We might as well check it out. If it’s nothing, we can just keep following the trees.”

“All right,” Sienna says with a nod. “We’ll go.”

“And if it’s druids?” Adam asks, venom in his voice. The horns on his forehead visibly extend a fraction of an inch.

“Then it’s druids, Adam,” Sienna says with a sigh. “We can’t be picky about who helps us at this point.”

“The help they would offer would just be giving up our own strength to—”

“Adam!” Sienna interrupts. “You need to calm down. Don’t let the Wilds into your head so soon. Who knows how long we’ve got before we go full blank too? We have to take the chance.”

Adam growls, but he does quiet down, and Sienna leads the four of them down towards the clearing. As they get closer, Blake’s insides start to ache, and she can spot everyone else tightening up. 

When they can finally see the clearing, Blake’s breath catches in her throat. It’s a circle of small rocks; dozens, maybe hundreds of them, all marked with glowing blue runes. Druidic protection stones, keeping the corruption out of that small area. She’s never seen them in person before. Inside the circle is a small tent and firepit. As she approaches, the ache inside of her spikes, and she jumps back. The corruption within her refuses to let her take another step towards the clearing.

“Druid blood magic, all right,” Sienna says, grimacing as she steps up to the edge of the circle. “Hey! Is anyone in there?”

The flap to the tent opens, and two young people step out, a man with long dark hair coming out first with a woman with a short blaze of orange behind him. They’re clad in traditional druidic robes, their feet bare, wrists scarred from where they offer up blood to their invisible god. They both tense their shoulders, spotting the group at the edge of their home.

“Who are you?” the man asks, crossing his arms. “How’d you find us?”

“We’re refugees from the Belladonna clan,” Sienna answers. “Our warlocks were taken by the Wilds two days ago. We just need—”

“Leave,” the woman growls.

“Please, just hear us out,” Sienna pleads. “Look at what’s happening to us.”

“Nora, maybe we should help,” the man suggests, looking down at his partner.

“No. They’re all old enough to know better,” Nora hisses. “Ren, you don’t know these people like I do! What if their people are just trying to draw us out? They could be from that—”

“We could just break your protection circle and come in anyway,” Adam says, stepping up beside Sienna. 

“Just try it, freak!” Nora shouts, and she rises fully into the air, flying above the camp with her hair flying around her face. Ren drops into a defensive stance and rocks rise from the ground, hovering threateningly around him.

Sienna takes a step back. “So that’s how you’re still alive out here,” she says. 

“Yeah, so back off!” Nora shouts, glaring down at them. 

“We’ll leave you in peace,” Sienna says with a slight bow. “Come on, everyone. Let’s go.”

“We can—”

“ _Adam._ Let’s _go._ ”

Adam nods, and the four of them walk back into the Sunless Forest. As soon as they’re out of view of the clearing, Sienna turns on Adam.

“You _idiot!_ ” she says, scratching at his face with her new claws, and he reels back in pain and shock. “Why’d you _threaten_ them? We have no idea when or if we’ll find this other clan!”

“They’re _druids,_ ” Adam spits. “They’re the enemy.”

“Right now, we’re about to become the enemy ourselves,” Sienna hisses. “The Wilds aren’t exactly sheltering us right now, if you haven’t noticed! Or do you _want_ those horns?”

Adam clenches his fist, but looks down. Ilia and Blake exchange looks. Their arguments have been getting worse. 

“Yeah. Thought so.” Sienna takes a deep breath. “Now, let’s get—”

A howl interrupts her, and the four of them drop into defensive stances, forming the square that they’d fallen into by instinct over the past two days of walking. More howls join the chorus, and red eyes appear in the darkness, slipping out from behind trees. Blake squints — if nothing else, her night vision is getting better — and sees an enormous, four-legged figure, fur shaggy and canines like swords curving past its mouth.. 

“Elderwolf,” Blake whispers fiercely. “Sienna, I don’t know if we can—”

“I’m thinking,” Sienna interrupts, but Blake can hear the shaking in her voice.

“Come on then!” Adam challenges, raising his sword. 

“Adam, I swear on the Titans’ graves—”

“ **KNEEL.** ”

The lesser werewolves cower before the supernaturally deep and powerful voice that echoes through the wood. Chills strike deep into Blake’s heart, and the four of them all flinch. They spot the source, a tall woman in deep red robes with one sleeve exposed walking out from a tree behind them, her eyes glowing orange circles in a sea of black sclera and hair.

“ **KNEEL, ELDER,** ” she orders, raising a hand, the air around her crackling and wavering with heat. Blake gasps as the rune on the warlock’s shoulder starts to shine bright against the dark of the forest. 

_Sorcerer._

The elderwolf growls at her, clawing at the ground and preparing to charge, and the warlock pulls back her arm and spins, throwing out an enormous fireball that hits the wolf dead in the face. It lets out a scream, disturbingly human, and runs off with its pack, leaving a trail of smoke and the smell of burning hair. The warlock smiles, walking up to Blake’s group. Adam, Blake and Ilia all drop to one knee.

“Madam warlock,” Adam says. “We humbly ask—”

“Who are you?” Sienna demands, a hand still on her whip. “There hasn’t been a sorcerer born among the wildlings for two generations. You’re _young._ ”

“So suspicious,” the woman says with a warm, deep laugh, her voice human now. “And so...wrong. No, there hasn’t been a sorcerer _born_ among us. But they’ve been _made_.” When she smiles, her teeth are sharp. “You all look to be in terrible condition. Were you following my signs?”

“Those were yours, then?” Sienna asks, still standing. Blake can’t help but admire her gumption. No one stands in the presence of a foreign warlock, without their own to back them up.

The warlock smiles, turns, and blasts a nearby tree with fire. As soon as it cools, there’s the brand they’ve been following. “I was coming out to start marking another trail when I heard the commotion. My name is Cinder Fall, lieutenant-warlock. You have almost made it to the Queendom of Salem...and you are unprotected.”

“We’re from the Belladonna clan, madam,” Adam says, looking up. “Our warlocks were claimed by the Wilds. We’re the only survivors.”

“Well, now,” Cinder hums. “Do you seek a new ruler? Do you wish to swear fealty to Salem?”

“We haven’t met her yet,” Sienna says. 

Cinder laughs. “I _love_ that spirit! You’ll be more than welcome among us. I’ll take you to her majesty. But first...you can’t come into the palace looking like that.” She approaches Sienna, her hands outstretched. “May I?”

Sienna looks back at the group for a moment, then turns back and nods. The others rise to watch as Cinder takes Sienna by the shoulders and raises her head up, eyes staring into the canopy above. A sound, like rushing water, fills the air, and Cinder’s eyes glow so bright they hurt to look at. As they watch, the fur on Sienna’s arms sheds right off, her ears shrinking back down to human size and shape. She lets out a sigh of relief as Cinder releases her. 

“Thank you, madam warlock,” she says, bowing. Cinder beckons the next of them forward, and she goes through them one-by-one, taking their corruption into herself. By the time she’s finished, her power ripples through the air, and once again, Blake feels the warmth of a warlock’s protection. 

Cinder leads them through the forest, and they silently follow her until they crest a hill and behold a _city._ A great stone ziggurat rises in the center, flanked by smaller buildings, all stone themselves. Blake gapes at the site before her, at the enormous walls and the ornate gate. She’s never seen so many people in one place. They look like ants, scurrying about in the cobblestone streets. No warlock has such a domain. Not since the ancient days, before the rise of the Witchdom.

“Welcome to Evernight,” Cinder announced, sweeping her hand over the sight. 

“How is this possible?” Sienna asks, her eyes wide. 

“Her majesty is the will of the Wilds incarnate,” Cinder claims. “All others are as dust compared to her. Two generations, you said. The Wilds have been less kind to us... or so you thought. But they have a plan. It is not in scattered, squabbling groups, but glorious unity.”

“You sure know how to talk pretty,” Sienna mutters. “I’d like to see this queen for myself.”

“And you will, of course. As the last representatives of your clan, you will be granted high honors,” Cinder assures her. Blake wishes she could take Ilia’s hand, but Adam stands between them, his expression nothing but awe. This is so much. How did she not know this was here? 

Cinder leads them to the gates and waves them open with a hand, and together they ascend the steps of the ziggurat and pass by the guards there without a word needed. Cinder takes them to guest quarters in the west wing, promising to return when the queen is ready for them, and leaves them to their own devices.

“This is amazing!” Adam says as the door closes, a smile on his face for the first time in a long while. “I can’t believe we stuck with the Belladonnas so long when _this_ was out here waiting for us.”

“We don’t know if we can trust her yet,” Sienna warns. “There are very different types of warlock in the world, Adam. We were lucky to have them while we did.”

“Yeah, that’s what _they_ said. But we knew better, didn’t we, Blake?” Adam asks, casting a glance Blake’s way.

“I…” She swallows a lump in her throat. “I — I don’t know, right now, okay?”

“ _Blake_ , back me up here,” Adam says through grit teeth. “You knew they were weak. You told them to their faces! That’s why you left the lodge in the first—”

“Enough, Adam!” Ilia interrupts, standing in front of Blake and staring him down. “Her parents just died two days ago!”

“What do you care?” Adam sneers. “She’s _mine,_ Ilia. Or were you forgetting that?”

Blake steps back, fear gripping her chest, her words catching in her throat before Sienna steps between Ilia and Adam. “That’s _enough,_ ” she says, glancing back and forth. “We just barely made it to safety, we don’t need to be at each other's throats now. Adam, if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your mouth, maybe you should just _shut up_ until we meet Salem.”

“Why do you keep acting like you’re in charge?” Adam demands, shoving her back. 

“Because I was next in line to become warlock—”

“Lot of good that did you, didn’t it? The only reason I wasn’t chosen is because Ghira didn’t like that Blake and I were together! I was always our strongest warrior and you know it!”

“And I was our best _leader,_ ” Sienna counters as Blake and Ilia step back from the confrontation.

“Where's your proof of that, then?” Adam asks. “What, leading us here?”

“If it was your choice, those druids would’ve killed us,” Sienna seethes. “You think you can take on the whole world with just a rusty bronze sword, but you’ve _always_ had me or a warlock backing you up.”

“Then let’s settle it right now!” Adam draws his sword, and just as quickly Sienna’s whip is out and wrapped around it. She tugs it from his grasp and sends it behind her and across the room, forcing Blake to dodge it.

“Both of you, stop!” Blake begs. “Please!” Ilia goes to her side, a hand over hers, and Adam looks at them and bares his teeth. Before he can say anything else, the door opens, and a young woman with bright green hair stares at the four of them.

“Are...are you the Belladonna party?” she asks, wincing.

“That’s us,” Sienna says as Ilia lifts Blake to her feet. 

“Come this way. Her majesty’s waiting.”

“Where’s Cinder?” Adam asks, leaving his sword on the floor like it’s supposed to be there as they follow the new girl out into the hall.

“My mistress has duties to attend to, so she sent me in her place,” she says with a slight bow. “I’m Emerald Sustrai.”

“It’s good to meet you, Emerald,” Sienna says, following close at her heels. “Where are you taking us?”

“Her majesty has prepared the ritual chamber for you,” Emerald says. “You’re very lucky. I haven’t been offered a gift by her yet, though my mistress says she’s put in a good word for me.”

“Gifts?” Sienna asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes. She’s going to select some of you to become warlocks, others sorcerers, as according to the will of the Wilds,” Emerald explains. 

Sienna blinks. “I — Wow. How will she…?”

"She’ll explain everything,” Emerald promises, stopping in front of a grand door. “Please.”

Sienna looks at Emerald again, then shrugs and pushes open the grand, gilded double-doors, and all four of them step back with a gasp as they behold what looms before them in the ritual chamber. 

A massive skull confronts them, half as tall as the ziggurat itself, bereft of eye sockets and bearing huge, blunt teeth. Its power makes Blake want to fall to her knees right here and now, and everyone else stands just as petrified. 

A very tall, very pale woman with long, white hair and black veins crossing her face steps into their view, dressed in purple and black. Her eyes burn blood-red into Blake’s soul. She smiles at them.

“Welcome. Please, come in,” she offers, extending a hand, her nails long, sharp and black.

“Your majesty,” Sienna says, bowing and taking a nervous step inside. “You...you have Kit’s skull.”

“Does that disturb you, child?” Salem asks, a slight smirk on her face as the rest of the party shuffles in and the doors slam shut behind them. “The titan of earth speaks to me, still. Does she speak to you?”

“Not in words,” Sienna admits, still staring at the skull. “I simply...I did not know anyone possessed it. All of the clans have some titan bone or another, but this...how did you even move it?”

Salem smirks, and turns one shoulder to them, a gap in her dress showing a rune — no, _four_ runes. Spreading from one central point like a compass rose are the symbols of all four of the dead gods. “By the Titans,” Ilia whispers, and Salem laughs.

“Indeed, by the Titans,” she says, smiling. “I met them, so many years ago. They told me their weak, merciful aspects had fled their mortal bodies, and their wills were starting to fade into abject madness. I had always heard the voices of the gods in my head, but I dismissed them — they were only the voices of the weak ones who reside in the immaterial heavens, the children of the great Titans. But the strong aspects, those that gave us the Wilds? They needed a host. A prophet of their will, a way to bind them all together.” Salem runs a hand over the side of the skull, sighing. “My journey took me through the Windswept Plains, the Marshlands, the Blasted Crags, and then here, to the Sunless Forest. From their bodies, I took their power into me, and now I hear them, always.”

“And what is their will, exactly? What do they need you for?” Sienna asks.

“The destruction of the Witchdom, the druidic peoples, and all other followers of their misbegotten progeny,” Salem says, her voice deepening, wind whipping her hair around her. “Only when their ancient power covers all the world, unimpeded by wards or protection stones, shall the Titans rise again, and lead us into a new glorious age.”

Blake shivers. The things she’s talking about...it was only a dream to the warlocks before her, but she sounds so certain, and her power is plain to feel.

“I…” Sienna bows her head. “I hereby swear loyalty to you, my Queen. Do with me as you see fit.”

“I’m glad I can still give a good speech,” Salem says with a smirk. “My dear, the Titans tell me that you were going to take on the burden of becoming a warlock before your clan was destroyed. Allow me to guide your initiation today, Sienna Khan.”

“I would be honored.”

“Take my hand,” Salem offers. Sienna does, and Salem smoothly glides across the floor, touching Sienna’s hand to one tooth of the titan. 

“Do you feel her, calling to you?” Salem asks. 

“I do,” Sienna whispers. 

“Will you do her will, act as her guardian, and preserve your charges’ sanity in order to serve her?”

“I will.”

“Take her power within yourself. Maintain your stance, and you shall become her willing servant, not her forceful thrall,” Salem intones. Sienna takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, gulping. Adam watches on with rapt attention, Blake and Ilia standing behind him and staring at the scene before them.

“I...I see her,” Sienna gasps, grimacing. “I see what her plans for the world are, when she rises again, and — _ah_!” She tries to pull her hand away, but something binds her to the bone, and lines of sand start to raise up her arms, like veins coating her skin.

“No!” she shouts, bracing a foot against the skull. “Let me — let me _go!”_

But it’s still spreading all across her body, and Blake covers her mouth as Sienna opens her mouth to scream, and her teeth are stones falling out of her mouth, her legs turning to so much dust beneath her. As the rest of her body falls to the ground, it crumbles into a pile of rocks and dirt, and Salem _tsks._

“Weak,” is all she says, and Blake is frozen, her heart in her stomach. 

“I knew it,” Adam sneers. “Your majesty, I—”

“Adam Taurus,” Salem interrupts with a smile. “You always ached to serve the Titans, and were never given your due. Take my hand, and we shall see if she deems you worthy.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Adam says, bowing his head. Salem whisks away Sienna’s remains with a wave of her hand, then leads Adam to the same place that she had touched. Blake backs herself up against the door, finding Ilia beside her, their hands meeting almost unconsciously. Adam and Salem are too busy staring at Kit, and as Adam takes her power into his body, he does not flinch, does not waver. Whatever Kit is showing him, he doesn’t object to it at all. He takes in a sharp breath, black veins spreading across his body, and Blake quickly steps forward and brings Ilia with her as he steps back from the skull. When he turns to see her, Blake makes sure that she and Ilia are separate. His sclera have turned black, his blue eyes boring into her, and the horns on his forehead have returned.

“It’s incredible,” he says, and his voice makes Blake want to run and hide.

But she doesn’t. She stands her ground as Salem approaches her.

“Blake Belladonna,” she says, and Blake wonders if Salem can see into her head. “Kit tells me you defied your parents’ weakness, just as Adam did. You deserve an honor such that only she can give. Will you accept the power to control earth itself?”

“You...want to make me a sorcerer?” Blake asks.

“Yes. She stands ready to grant you this strength. All you need do is let her into you for just a moment.”

Blake gulps. Will she crumble, like Sienna? But there isn’t a choice, right now; if she refuses she’ll be killed on the spot. This is not a place to be hesitant, and Adam and Ilia are staring at her, and —

Her shoulder burns.

She recoils from Salem, the stone floor cracking under her feet as she clutches at the patch on her skin that hurts so badly. Salem’s eyes widen, her features showing something other than smug knowledge for the first time since Blake met her. Blake kneels to the ground, and she _feels_ it. 

The stones under her feet, making up the ziggurat, the streets outside, the walls, the earth beneath it all, it hums in her nerves and tells her that it is hers to command. She looks at her shoulder, and meets the sight of Kit’s rune, fresh and still steaming into her skin.

“Well!” Salem says with a short laugh. “It seems she didn’t even need me to channel her will into you!”

 _She knows not,_ a strange voice, like four people speaking at once, whispers in Blake’s mind. _Do not allow her to understand what I have done for you._

Blake swallows. “I...yes, your majesty, I — she’s come to me.”

“She must see great things within you, my dear,” Salem croons, reaching down and putting a hand under her chin. “This is so exciting! Perhaps you are even to be my successor, some day...ah, but I’ve not addressed lovely Ilia, yet.” Salem turns to Ilia. “Ilia Amitola...though Kit does not yet see a future for you, she has told me of your strength and loyalty. You shall serve under Adam as his protege, to prepare to take on warlockhood yourself some day, when you are ready.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Ilia says, bowing her head. “It’s a great honor.”

“Now.” Salem claps her hands together. “I am going to begin Adam’s training at once. For now, the two of you shall remain as honored guests until he is ready to begin his official duties, and I shall decide on an appropriate geomancer to train Miss Belladonna in her art soon enough. Emerald will show you to your new rooms, and I shall have meals prepared for you while Adam learns to control the power of the Wilds.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Blake murmurs. “So, will Adam re-join us tonight?”

“He shall have his own quarters, as do all my lieutenants,” Salem says. “Though I am sure you would wish to share a bed, he must be without distraction for a time. Am I understood?”

Blake feels relief surge through her. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Splendid. Run along, now. Adam and I have much to discuss.”

Adam gives Blake a hard stare before her and Ilia leave the room, and once the door closes behind them, Blake finally allows herself to shudder.

* * *

It’s late into the night, when the ziggurat has fallen silent and Ilia and Blake are at last alone in their room, that Blake finally feels it’s safe to speak. 

“Ilia?” she asks, sitting down on Ilia’s bed. Ilia rises instantly, sitting up under the covers. 

“Blake,” she breathes, reaching blindly in the dark for Blake’s hand, and she wants to just melt into it, right here, but she has to know.

“Ilia...what we’ve seen today...are you okay with all of this?”

Ilia nervously licks her lips. “What...what do you mean?”

“You saw what I saw, Ilia. You were there when Sienna...when she…” Blake chokes back a sob. “Ilia, I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“...it’s Adam, isn’t it?” Ilia asks.

“It’s everything,” Blake mutters miserably. “It’s all of it. Ilia, _please_ .” She places another hand on top of Ilia’s, trying to meet the shine of her eyes. “This is wrong. All of this is so... _wrong_!”

“But you got a gift!” Ilia insists. “You—”

“I don’t think that was Kit,” Blake whispers. “I think it was...it was something else. Not the Titan that Salem serves. They spoke to me. They told me to hide away what they did. I’ve been trying to talk to them, but...I’m not getting anything.”

Ilia’s eyes widened. “Blake…”

“I can’t stay here, Ilia. I can’t.”

Ilia swallows. “But you _saw._ You saw what happened to Sienna. How powerful Salem is. Where can we go?”

Blake takes a deep breath. “The Witchdom.”

“You can’t! They’ll kill you on sight! You know what they think about wildlings, how they treat us!” Ilia scrambles out from under the covers and puts her hands on Blake’s shoulders. 

“So I’ll sneak in. I’ll — they can’t guard every inch of the wards.”

“How will you get in? If you can even find it, the wards will kill you by the time you get there! You won’t be protected from corruption.” Ilia strokes a hand along Blake’s jawline. “Please, Blake, I — I know how scary this is… but this is our only choice.”

“No, it’s not,” Blake says. “If you won’t go — I, I’ll just go alone.”

And Ilia pulls her in close and kisses her, deeply. Blake can’t move at first, but then she’s falling into her, all the stress and emotion bleeding into their kiss. She feels like she’s drowning. Blake can taste Ilia’s tears, feels her own stinging at her eyes.

They only part a hair. “Please don’t go,” Ilia whispers desperately against Blake’s lips. “I can’t lose you. You’re all I have.” Ilia swallows. “I love you, Blake. I have for...a long time, and…”

“I know,” Blake says, hugging her tight. “I’m so sorry, I just — with Adam…”

“I know,” Ilia repeats, starting to choke and hiccup. “Please, Blake, I can’t — I can’t go with you, a-and watch you die, watch us _both_ die, or be caught by Salem and killed. I can’t.”

Blake pulls back, sniffing. “Then I’ll go alone.”

“I...I won’t tell anyone. I’ll tell them you snuck out while I was asleep,” Ilia promises. “I won’t stop you. I can hear it in your voice...I can’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” Blake whispers, standing and taking her pack from the floor. 

“Me too,” Ilia chokes out.

Blake heads for the door, stopping in front of it. She takes a deep breath, and wipes her eyes. She reaches out with her new sense, and realizes she doesn’t need a door at all. She turns back to Ilia.

“Goodbye,” she says softly, and drops right through the floor.

The stone of the ziggurat opens like puddles for her as she dives down, down, _down_ , deep beneath Evernight and into the cold, damp earth below, with nothing but her own power to guide her out from beneath that city. As soon as she senses she’s clear, her chest lightens — though she is still in the Wilds, the corruption within Evernight felt like breathing in mud, and now she is so much lighter. She tunnels for what feels like hours, and then she feels something else above her — something pure, and clean.

With a thought, she propels herself through the soil and into the air, flying up with the force of the earth behind her. She gasps at the clear sky above, the moon shining bright down on her—

...and then gravity brings her back down on top of the mess she’s made with a painful _thump._

“GAH WHAT THE FUCK,” is the first thing she hears as she shakes her head to clear it, looking around at where she emerged. She blinks a few times, recognizing the girl druid from before — Nora, wasn’t it? — staring directly at her and floating two feet off the ground. 

“I, um,” Blake stammers, but Nora throws a blast of air in her direction that pins her to the ground.

“Since when do warlocks have _mole people?”_ she demands, the power of her wind increasing. “And why did you have to ruin my nice fire?”

Ren bursts out of the tent, blinking rapidly. “Nora, what — who is that?”

“It’s one of those warlock people from before and she’s a mole person and she made a _total_ mess of our camp!” Nora complains, frowning down on Blake as she continues to channel a whirlwind at her.

“She’s not a mole person,” Ren says with a sigh. “Look at her shoulder. She’s a sorcerer, and she’s pure enough to get through the circle.”

“But she came from _under_ it,” Nora hisses. “She cheated the system!”

“They work in all directions, Nora, please let her speak for herself. She’s about to choke,” Ren points out, and with an exaggerated sigh, Nora drops her hand and herself to the ground. She puts her hands on her hips as Blake gasps in air, managing to sit up in the dirt.

“Okay, but she better talk fast,” Nora insists, stepping over to her and looming over her with a threatening air. “Or I’ll just take all the air out of her lungs, _that_ will show her.”

“Are you all right?” Ren asks, crouching down and offering a hand. Blake coughs.

“I’m sorry,” Blake manages to get out, gripping Ren’s hand and letting him pull her up. “I — I only just got these powers. I was following my instincts...I was hoping this was the Witchdom.”

“That’s a long way off,” Ren says with a sigh. “You _were_ with that warlock group. But...wildlings don’t get signs. Not anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Blake says. “Do you know how close you are to a warlock _city?_ ”

“We’ve seen it on our hunts,” Ren admits. “But they’ve never bothered us. The stones will keep us safe.”

“You’re just not worth the effort right now,” Blake tells him, trying to look at him very seriously. “Listen, we — _all_ of us — need to get out of here. Right now.”

“No way, Missy,” Nora says, pointing at her face. “Do you know how many times we’ve had to move because of dumb warlocks? We’re strong now. We’re not backing down.”

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with!” Blake shouts, shaking. “You don’t know,” she repeats, shivering. “They’ve — they’ve figured out how to make their own sorcerers.”

“Is that...what you are?” Ren asks, cocking his head.

Blake shakes her head. “Something...else, gave me my sign. Right when I needed it, too.”

“Just like us,” Nora whispers, her defensive stance dropping. “Ren, do you think…?”

“She’s telling the truth,” Ren says. “I can hear it.”

“What are you talking about?” Blake asks.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Ren says, taking a bow. “Let’s start over. I am Lie Ren, last of the Kuroyuri Tribe. This is my wife, Nora Valkyrie, of...well, we’re not entirely sure.”

Blake blinks. “Wait, you two are married? But you’re so...young.”

“It was magical,” Nora sighs. “Literally! We only did it because druidic marriage makes the new partner a druid, too, so I could help with making charms and protection stones and stuff. But...well, right after the ceremony, my sign showed up. Like the gods were telling me that it was right. That it was where we were supposed to be.”

Ren smiles fondly at her. “It came as a bit of a shock, to be honest, but...a welcome one.”

“How did you two meet? You’re...all alone out here,” Blake points out.

“Nora was an orphan child of a warlock clan,” Ren explains. “She heard rumors they were going to offer her up as a sacrifice to the Wilds. When they attacked my tribe, she hid, and found my own hiding place. That’s when my sign appeared. I was able to use it to help us escape, and we’ve been together ever since.” Nora walks over to him and lays her head on his shoulder, almost territorially. 

Blake hangs her head. “I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how hard that was.”

“We’ve made it, so far. But what about you?” Ren’s eyes bore into her. “Who are you, and...why do you think we need to leave?”

“The queen in charge of that city is incredibly powerful, and she...she killed my friend,” Blake says, shuddering. “My name is Blake. Blake Belladonna. She was about to give me an earth sign when it just...appeared on me.”

“The gods want you for something,” Ren muses. “They saved you. Nora...I think this is a sign. From Fate, or even her parents.”

“But — Ren, we don’t know what the Witchdom’s like,” Nora says, slumping. “Between what your elders said and what my warlock used to say…”

“That’s precisely it. We _don’t_ know what it’s like.” Ren swallows. “But if Blake’s telling the truth — and I think she is — then we’re going to need them. The Witchdom is the only place with a standing army of sorcerers that could hope to oppose them. Warlocks have stayed out of open war for almost a century, but…” 

“If...if you really think it’s best,” Nora says, taking Ren’s hand. “But...I’ve been pretty scared of that place building up out there. I’m with you, Ren. You know that.”

“I do.” Ren gives her a hug, then offers a hand to Blake. When they touch this time, something surges between them, and Blake gasps, not wanting to pull away. Ren smiles. “That’s your first link with another sorcerer,” he tells me. “And my welcome to you. Our camp is your camp, for tonight, and until we reach the Witchdom.”

“Thank you so much,” Blake breathes, feeling exhaustion suddenly force itself into her whole body. “T-thank you. You have no idea what this day’s been like...”

“We might have some idea,” Ren says with a knowing look at Nora. “Nora, will you still keep watch for us? I think Blake needs sleep quite badly.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll just go out and gather more friggin tinder,” Nora mutters, cracking her neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nobody sneaks up on us.” As she starts to walk towards the edge of the circle, she turns back to glare at Blake, pointing two fingers to her eyes and then to Blake. “But I’m watching you, _wildling_ ,” she says, before flying off into the forest.

“...She’ll only keep up that attitude for maybe half a day once we start traveling,” Ren says, turning to Blake — and then Blake collapses into his arms, totally spent. He stumbles back at first, but then holds her steady for a moment, letting her breathe before leading her into the tent, laying her down across from him on the bedroll. Blake swallows, one last question burning her mind so that she can’t quite fall into sleep.

“Ren?” she asks.

“Yes?”

“How will we find it? The Witchdom.”

“A simple druid’s tool,” he answers, leaning over and rummaging in his pack. “I’ve used it to find us food and water before.” He produces a small, triangular stone with a simple rune carved into it, currently inactive. He takes a knife from the pack, curved and strange to Blake’s eyes. He slices a fine line across his wrist, squeezing his fist to force droplets to fall into the rune, and it flashes and glows blue.

“Show us to the Witchdom,” he says, laying the stone flat on his palm. It spins in his hand, the longest point holding steady once it stabilizes. Blake blinks.

“Wow,” she whispers.

“It shall show us the way in the morning. Sleep, Blake,” Ren urges. “You’re among friends, now. I hope you know that.”

Blake swallows the lump in her throat, and nods, remembering all she’s lost in the past three days, the past few _hours._ But she knows he’s telling the truth. 

This time, when she sleeps, there are no nightmares.


	4. Fire

Yang takes a deep breath, staring at the inn before her, twinkling blue wards shimmering just behind it. In her hand she holds a crumpled sheet of paper, written in the hasty hand of an eavesdropper. She’s read the lines over and over again, even though she’d written them. Just to make sure.

_The Vale Lodge. Hei Xiong. Raven._

She lets go of her breath, and stuffs the note into her pocket. Now or never. 

When she walks into the lodge, the first thing she notices is how dark it is. No windows whatsoever (not that the Sunless Forest was a particularly bright and cheery sight); a few candles burn in sconces around the main room, but that’s all, and their light is dim to her eyes. No customers sit around the silent fireplace, and none around the bar, either. The only people she can see are two dark-haired young women standing at opposite ends of the dining area with their arms crossed, and an older man with a well-trimmed beard behind the bar, polishing a glass. He raises his eyebrows at her when she comes in.

“Thought the Core was supposed to be out for another week,” he says as Yang approaches the bar. “Didn’t expect any customers yet...especially not, what, a cadet?”

“I’m not a cadet,” Yang answers. She casually leans down against the bar, cocking her head at the man. “Just someone with questions.”

“Most people like that, I already know,” the man says, narrowing his eyes. “You, I don’t.”

“You’re Hei Xiong, right?” Yang asks, hopping up on the barstool and batting her eyelashes. “Heard all sorts of things about you.”

“Like what?” Hei sets down the glass. “And are you going to order?”

“Just water, thanks.” Yang waits until he’s filled her glass before saying, “And I hear you don’t just shelter Core members when they’re out here scouting the Wilds. You’ve got more... _interesting_ clientele.”

“Mhm.” Hei clicks his tongue. “We gonna sit here being cryptic all night, sweetheart, or are we gonna get specific?”

“Don’t call me that,” Yang warns. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, I don’t like little girls walking into my establishment and making vague, threatening accusations at me, so I guess we’re even.” 

“Wildlings,” Yang says through grit teeth. “You bring them through the wards.”

“Is that so.” Hei reaches under the bar and pulls up a bottle, then a glass. “And who told you that?” He uncorks the bottle and pours himself a glass of wine, sipping as Yang answers.

“Heard it from a dusty old crow.”

“And I suppose it got into the liquor cabinet.”

“Bingo.”

“So, what do you want?”

“Raven Branwen.”

Hei barks out a laugh. “Oh, sure, yeah! I’m just going to tell you where the Witchdom’s most famous missing-persons case is, with not even an ounce of gold for my trouble to boot! I’m so generous like that, and wiser than an Oracle, too.”

“I know you know where she is,” Yang hisses. “Bird said that, too.”

“Thanks for letting me know about this _very_ chatty bird. I’ll get in touch with pest control,” Hei says, setting down his glass and filling it again. “But I think it’s time for you to go. You might buy more trouble than you’re counting on, you keep trying to haggle this way.”

Yang plants her elbow on the bar and lights her fist on fire. “I don’t think so.”

Hei nods, humming. Then with a wordless shout, he throws out his hand, the wine jumping from his glass and into the air, forming into icicles and flying right at Yang’s face. She jumps back with a flare of flames, melting them before they touch her. Yang glances behind her, and sees that the two women have stepped up, one’s hands lit with fire, the other’s hair whirling around her face with a magical wind. Hei bares his teeth.

“I bet you’re used to being the big tough kid at school, huh?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “Well, now you’re not the only one with a sorcerer’s sign. Meet Melanie and Miltia,” he says, pointing to the aeromancer and then the pyromancer in turn. “They’d love to make your acquaintance.”

“Hei, can we take this outside?” Melanie says with a sigh. “I really don’t wanna rebuild this place…”

“Depends on Yang, here,” Hei says, laughing when Yang steps back in shock. “Yeah, I recognize Taiyang Xiao Long’s kid, _big shock._ Knew your uncle a long time ago, too. Thought he’d be smarter than to blab. Did he really send you here without backup?”

“He didn’t _send me_ anywhere,” Yang growls, trying to figure a way out of this surrounded position she’s found herself in. “Doesn’t know I know.”

“So nobody knows where you are,” Hei points out.

“So we can burn your bones to ash and no one will ever know where you went,” Miltia says with a wicked grin. “Just like Summer Rose.”

And Yang sees red.

With a scream, she pounds her fists together and explodes. Miltia bends the wave of flame around her and her sister, but Hei isn’t so lucky, isn’t so fast. He flies backwards against the wall, his hair and beard scorched off by the power of the blast. As Yang stands in the aftermath, breathing hard, subconsciously quelling the flames around her and staring down the other two sorcerers, Miltia _tsks_ at her.

“Well, now you’ve killed poor Hei,” she sighs, putting a hand on her hip. 

“He always was too cocky,” Melanie notes. “He shoulda guessed you were strong.”

“Good moves, though,” Miltia adds. “Now check out ours.”

With a pirouette, Melanie throws out a blast of air that snuffs out the fires across the room and sends Yang against the bar. Before Yang can fire back, she’s forced to deflect a fireball from Miltia. It slams into the back wall and blows a hole in it, and Yang points her arms backwards and rockets herself out through it, passing through the ward and into the dark undergrowth of the Sunless Forest. She ducks behind a tree, breathing hard.

“Great plan,” Miltia calls out mockingly. “Now you can die even faster when the wolves smell you!”

Yang reaches into her coat pocket and feels the warmth of the charm she’d stolen from Dad’s room. “Guess again!” she yells, rounding the tree and firing off a blast at the first moving thing she sees. Miltia and Melanie dive apart, then come back together as Yang keeps up her long-range attack, linking hands in the middle of the firestorm that Yang’s starting up. With their free hands, they form a massive burning twister around them, and Yang flings herself back for cover as the tornado engulfs the tree she’d been next to. As she tries to catch her breath behind another tree, Melanie comes flying around it and decks her in the face, sending her to the ground with her nose bent and bleeding. Melanie steps forward and plants a boot on Yang’s chest, twisting her hand in the air, and Yang’s lungs tighten within her.

“Got her, Mil,” she calls, and as Yang gasps for air, Miltia lazily approaches, crouching down next to Yang. 

Miltia takes Yang’s hand between both of hers. “Let her go for a second, Mel,” she asks, smiling at Yang. Yang sucks in air, dizzy, Miltia’s image wavering in front of her eyes.

“Oh, Yang,” Miltita sighs. “You know, there’s something they don’t teach you in the Core, about sorcerers, and how we link.” She grips Yang’s hand tight. “They don’t tell you that it can be done by _force._ They don’t tell you that you can overpower another’s will with your own and burn them from the inside out.” 

Yang’s heart warms up, beating impossibly fast, and for a moment, she feels panic grip her — and then she steels herself, feeling the foreign soul invading her own, and rejecting it. “Then let’s see how strong you are,” she hisses, grabbing Miltia’s hand right back, and Miltia’s eyes suddenly go wide.

Miltia bursts into flames.

She screams, trying desperately to break away from Yang’s grip, but Yang holds tight and fast. Melanie tries to yank them apart with her hands, but shouts and recoils back, coming away with scorched flesh and falling backward into the grass. 

With a flash, Miltia crumbles to white ash on the forest floor, and Yang rises tall over Melanie’s terrified body.

“Miltia!” she cries, flinching back when Yang aims a fist at her. “Oh, oh gods, Miltia…”

“Tell me about Raven Branwen or you’ll get the same!” Yang shouts, panting hard. 

“I, I’ll tell you everything I know, gods, I didn’t think — just please, don’t—”

A massive icicle spears straight through Melanie’s chest, and her next word turns into a single, red cough. She slumps to the ground. Yang blinks, raising her eyes to see the shaggy-headed figure of her uncle, the grass around him brown and dead, his arm still thrust forward.

“You...killed her,” she whispers as he angrily stalks up to her.

He scoffs. “Like _you_ didn’t just kill two people,” he growls, taking Yang by the shoulders and squeezing hard. “What the _hell_ were you thinking, Yang?!”

“She’d surrendered!” Yang says, trying to step back but finding Qrow’s grip impossible to break. “She—”

“Was the only _witness_ to the two _murders_ you just committed!” Qrow interrupts, staring down at her with fury in his face. “You hear me drunkenly rambling to your father about a group of known criminals operating a people-smuggling business for our ancient enemies, and your first thought is, _oh, I bet they know where mommy is_?” Yang shudders, closing her eyes, letting the truth of what just happened wash over her. She feels sick. “You didn’t think that _maybe_ there’s a reason they haven’t been dealt with yet? That maybe some people might know better than you, might have a plan that involves them _not knowing anyone else knows?_ Huh?! Answer me!” Qrow shakes Yang, then throws her onto her back in the grass.

“I’m sorry,” Yang chokes, her eyes stinging, and Qrow’s face softens.

He looks away from her, letting out a long sigh before pulling a flask from inside his coat and taking a drink. ”You think you’re tough enough for the big, bad world,” he mumbles, stuffing the flask back. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

“That’s _why_ I came out here!” Yang says, struggling to get back up, to get her will back. “You never told us anything about—”

“I know,” Qrow replies, and that stops Yang’s renewed anger in its tracks. “I know. Gods.” He puts a hand to his forehead. “We’re gonna have to do a lot to cover our tracks here, you know. We don’t need to cause a panic.”

Yang gulps. “You mean…”

“Yeah. I’ll get Hei’s body. You burn up hers.” Qrow turns, but Yang calls out, “Wait!”

Qrow looks back, and Yang looks down. “Can you...can you stay with me, for a second? I’m...I wasn’t ready for all of this,” she admits. “I don’t know if you’ve done a lot of this sort of stuff, or what, but…” She sniffs. “I…”

Qrow steps forward and pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry, kid,” he says softly, his shoulders relaxing. “Sorry. It’s not you I’m mad at. I know you were just defending yourself, like your dad taught you. All my fault you ended up out here.” He pulls back and places a hand on her shoulder. “Look...let’s do this thing, and then I’ll answer any questions you have. Okay?”

“Okay,” Yang agrees. “But no splitting up.”

“You got it, firecracker.”

* * *

It’s late into the evening by the time Qrow declares that they’re done. The Vale Lodge stands in ashes, behind a newly-drawn ward line — to make it look as though the wards had retracted from the woods, and a salamander or a dragon had come along and torched the place. Qrow and Yang sit in front of it, their camp set for the night, a fire burning in a pit between them, roasted Wilds game in their bellies. They’d worked in silence, with Qrow’s directions the only words spoken, until now, as the sun begins to set and the sky over the wards is blazing orange.

“So.” Qrow takes a swig off of his flask. “Your questions. Ask ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Yang breathes. “Yeah.”

“Go on, kid, I won’t bite. Anymore.”

“Who are you?” she asks, and by the look in his eyes, Qrow knows exactly what she’s asking.

He sighs and leans back on his hands. “Your mother and I are wildlings. We were born and raised out there, in the forest,” he says, pointing. 

Yang exhales slowly. “Yeah... I had a feeling.”

“Something they don’t know out here is that there’ve been no sorcerers born to wildlings in two generations; ever since the Guardian and the Progenitor showed up,” Qrow continues. “Well, it’s not common knowledge, anyway. Ironwood prefers to keep it all under wraps — _any_ new intel about wildlings. He doesn’t want the average person to think they’re still a possible threat to the Witchdom.”

“So how were you and Raven sorcerers?” Yang asks.

“I said we’re not born among the wildlings anymore, but...things change,” Qrow sighs. “We were made. A new clan moved into our territory, killed our warlock. The leader was this...I mean, warlocks are crazy enough anyway, but Salem’s downright _nuts_. Worships the corruption like it’s a living god. But she’s got the power to back it up. She can _make_ people sorcerers, and she gave that gift to my sister and I and sent us into the Witchdom to learn how to use the arts, spy on the place, since the wildlings lost most of that knowledge. Not a lotta grandparents among ‘em, you know.” 

“But you’re still here,” Yang points out. “...why?”

“Yep. I’m still here, because it’s a better life, to be honest. I went native, guess you could say.” Qrow takes another swig. “My sister...look, none of us knew where she went for a long, long time. But...well, _apparently_ you heard me, the other night. There’ve been...sightings of something that might be her, and I wanted to come down and ask the guys who let me into the Witchdom in the first place what they knew. But you saw how that went, huh.”

“What really happened to her?” Yang asks. “As...as far as you know, I mean.”

“Like I said, don’t know. She went out on a routine recon trip right after you were born, then...we never saw her again.” Qrow peers at his flask, then empties the last few drops into his mouth before capping it and putting it away. “Tai and Summer were heartbroken. I hadn’t told them, at the time… where we came from, I mean. When I did, it tore us apart. Summer finally pried it out of me a couple years after your sister was born, and then she went off into the woods after her after telling Ironwood and Chloe about us.”

Yang’s eyes widen. “You mean — you mean that’s how she…”

Qrow swallows, his eyes dark and tired. “Yeah. Raven might’ve linked back up with our old master, but Summer...I know she’s dead. Knew it the minute I heard. After the famous Rose Squad got broken up like that, Ironwood decided all this was need-to-know, and nobody needed to know. Least of all their poor kids.” Qrow looks up at Yang, running a hand through his hair. “And when I figured out why the hell you’d _disappeared from your home_ for two weeks, I was afraid I’d come here and find nothing. Just like when I went looking for Raven...and Summer.”

“I’m sorry,” Yang whispers. “This was so — so _stupid_.”

“Yeah, it was. But you’re your parents’ daughter,” Qrow sighs. “Both of ‘em. Stupid just like that.”

“Are...are dad and Ruby okay?” Yang asks, flinching in preparation for the answer.

“You scared the shit out of your old man and you’re gonna get on your gods-damned knees and beg his forgiveness,” Qrow replies, a bite in his tone. “And your sister’s gonna get a lot of bear-hugs, got it?”

“Yeah,” Yang says with a tired laugh. “Yeah. I’ll do all that.”

“I’ll call ‘em tomorrow on the crystal ball, but we need our rest for tonight. Especially you.” Qrow stands. “Now, let’s get to — you hear that?” he asks, head whipping towards the Wilds.

“Hear what?”

“Listen.”

Yang cranes her neck towards the forest, and then a loud voice breaks out.

“I’m telling you, those are wards!” it insists. Yang hears a couple of frantic shushes, an annoyed rebuttal, then, “Yoo-hoo! You guys witches? This the Witchdom?”

“Stop it!” another voice says harshly. “We don’t—”

Qrow sighs. “Guess they’re not Salem’s people,” he says, raising his eyebrows at Yang, then yelling, “Come out, you idiots, so we can see you. We won’t hurtcha, promise.”

Yang squints, and makes out three figures coming into view in the darkness, stepping right up to the edges of the wards. All three are dressed in druids’ robes, though the girl with the long black hair is at least wearing boots. The redheaded girl talks first.

“Is it safe to come inside?” she asks as Yang and Qrow head up to the barrier. “We’re not gonna get disintegrated, are we?”

Qrow chuckles. “No, and I know just where you got that myth, wildling.”

“I’m not a wildling!” the girl insists. “I’m a _druid._ See?” she sweeps her hands over her clothes. “I’ll make a charm right now, just gimme a rock.”

“Nora, that won’t be necessary,” the boy says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “My dowsing rod led us here, but...what happened to this lodge?”

“Long story, kids,” Qrow says. “Gods, what happened to bring you three out here?”

“We’re the last of our tribe,” the black-haired girl says, her eyes flitting between the other two and making contact. “We came seeking shelter.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the story’s that simple,” Qrow says with a smirk. “Yeah, come on in, if you’re charmed you can pass through. We aren’t cops.”

Nora leaps right through, then pulls the boy in after her with little hesitation. The last girl hesitates at the edge, biting her lip and looking at Yang. Yang’s struck by...something. A sense of familiarity. Like maybe her mother, or her uncle, once looked this way at the safety of the wards. 

She offers a hand, passing it through the ward. “Come on,” she offers. The girl takes her hand, and with a jolt, they link, and instinctively tighten their grip on each other. 

“Hey, uncle,” she says, looking at Qrow. “She’s a geomancer.”

“Nice,” Qrow says. “I can put in a word with the Guardian, get her in the Core.”

The girl blinks, then lets Yang gently pull her inside. “What’s your name?” Yang asks, loosening her grip.

“I’m Blake,” she says quietly, only reluctantly pulling her hand away. 

“I’m Lie Ren,” the boy says, bowing slightly. “Geomancer, myself. Nora here is my wife, and an aeromancer.”

“Damn, kids move fast these days,” Qrow mutters. “Well, shit. Welcome to the Witchdom. We got two weeks to walk back to Citadel, and we’ll see about making you all a place here.” He pauses, looking over the three druids and giving them a wry look.

“Get ready for some paperwork.”


End file.
